


Power Surge

by ValmureEld



Series: Legend of the Sword Deserved Better So I'll Write it All Myself [4]
Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: All the knights worry about Arthur, Angst, Arthur cares about his knights, Character Study, Close Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post Battle, Team, Team as Family, Tristan needing reassurance, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 04:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11051115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValmureEld/pseuds/ValmureEld
Summary: Excalibur shows great power when wielded by a Pendragon...but nobody actually knows *what* the sword is doing to or through Arthur. Tristan in particular feels uneasy about the whole thing. Especially when Arthur exhausts himself in Tristan's defense.





	Power Surge

**Author's Note:**

> And I'm back. Nobody is surprised. More magic sword headcannon building and character study, and more family of knights bonding because that's my favorite. Wanted to explore Tristan and Arthur a little bit here, as well as the uncertainty surrounding a weapon that can knock its wielder out cold. 
> 
> If you haven't read my Excalibur's Heart fic just know from now on I will be writing all my fics with headcannons in place, including the one where Arthur's heartbeat is magically present and detectable in Excalibur's blade and hilt.

“He's asleep.”

“Finally.” 

Bedivere sighed, sinking into his seat at the round table as George closed Arthur's door as quietly as possible and retreated. Arthur hadn't made it to his actual chambers so he was settled in a guest room just off the hall. He'd walked back from the battle into the castle with a confident stride, all straight spine bravado and fiery personality until a clatter of the sword hitting the floor sounded and he promptly passed out. It was just as sudden and just as thorough as the first time he'd tried to use Excalibur, and William and Bedivere had exchanged worried looks as Tristan checked on his friend and then George carried him away to lay down. 

George descended the few stairs and joined the other knights, all of whom looked like they needed at least a week's rest and then a vacation on top of it. 

The battle had been hard and far too long, and Arthur had been at the front the entire time. Excalibur's blue glow and raw power flashed across hill and into the thickest ranks, leaving a massacre in its wake. The invaders had retreated north, and George was certain tales of a land protected by a sorcerer king would soon spread. 

“I can't believe he was on his feet for that long. You'd think exhaustion would have taken him,” Tristan said, wonder showing on his face through the grime and weariness. He was holding his side gingerly, having been struck by a harsh blow while defending Arthur's back. Not only had Arthur cut a swath through their attackers but then he'd proceeded to fight his way out with Tristan unconscious on his shoulders. 

“Excalibur is a wondrous thing, its power is unmeasured,” Bedivere said, his hand resting on his goblet like he didn't even have the energy to lift and drain it properly. 

“It seems so,” George said softly, and Tristan glanced over at him, a similar worry in his eyes. 

“What is the sword doing to him?” Tristan finally asked. “Do we even know for sure? Now that Vortegern is no longer a threat—maybe he should give it up. Something that puts him out like that can't be healthy.” He looked at the two knights who might have an answer, but Bedivere was still staring at his goblet and William's brow furrowed, his thin chest rising and falling with a bone-weary sigh.

The sword in question was laying on the table in front of George, who'd brought it with him. He wasn't even sure why, but after Tristan voiced what he'd been thinking he grimaced. Maybe he'd taken the sword away from Arthur out of an instinctive protectiveness. He rest his hand gingerly on the hilt, feeling that magical pulse within the leather that had started after Arthur had defeated his uncle. 

“The sword is a power all its own, and it channels that power through the Pendragon blood. I do not know what it does to the body, but Uther never displayed ill effects and until he collapsed just now Arthur seemed empowered by it. Energized, even,” Bedivere said, though the uncertainty was apparent in his expression. “The Mage performed tests, proved that it was only when Arthur fought Excalibur that it caused him to lose conciousness.”

“Then what happened just now?” Tristan asked, sitting forward with his anxiety. “He was fine one moment, and the next--”

“For all we know Excalibur was the only thing keeping him on his feet,” William interjected. “You said it yourself, Tristan. He fought all day and then carried you out of danger on his back. He collapsed from exhaustion, not from a drain put on him by his weapon.” 

Bedivere nodded. “That is one thing I do know. Arthur is a conduit, not a source. Excalibur is not drawing on Arthur to perform its magic, it is working through him.” 

“I've never had much faith in magic, but Excalibur has never been harmful to the wielder. Just...strong willed.” Bill smiled a little, the expression lopsided. “Much like her current wielder, and his father, conveniently.”

Bedivere smiled at that, chuckling lightly as he rubbed at his brow. “I have often wondered if Excalibur's fire comes not from its source but from its binding to the Pendragon blood. The personality is too similar to be coincidence.” 

“This...binding you speak of,” George said, breaking a piece of bread and handing half to Tristan. “How do you know you can trust the Lady of the Lake?”

“Truthfully?” Bill asked, leaning back in his seat with a new goblet of wine in hand. “We don't. But she's been working alongside Merlin and the Pendragons for as long as we've known of her. If she is playing some longer game, it is too late.” 

“Her magic is pure,” Bedivere said with confidence, nodding once before raising his goblet to his lips. “That much I know. She sides with the just and upholds the defenders of the weak. She would not shorten the life of the born king by binding that life to a weapon that would do him harm.” 

George nodded, not knowing himself but knowing Arthur. He'd helped forge that boy, and he knew he was made of stronger material even than the blade his hand rested on. “Very well. If you trust her and Excalibur, then so do I.”

Tristan still looked uncertain, his brow knit with tension and his hand toying idle with the bread. “I'm going to check on him,” he said finally. “Make sure he's alright.” 

George's hand on Excalibur and the even pulse inside told them all Arthur was fine, but nobody said anything as Tristan limped slowly up the steps and slipped into the room. 

Arthur was nestled in a swath of blankets and pillows, his shirt hiked up and his hair askew. He was laying curled on his side, his right arm nestled up by his head, his left slung loose around a pillow pressed into his stomach. His breathing was soft and deep, but far apart. Exhaustion etched every line, but Tristan didn't feel quite so tense anymore because he knew Arthur had to have shifted to put himself in the position he was in. There was no way George had arranged their unconscious king to look like he had when he was seven years old and sleeping in the flour again. 

Tristan smiled faintly at the memory and sat gingerly at the foot of the bed, leaning forward to take pressure off his injury. He watched Arthur for a moment longer before tipping his head back and sighing, rubbing at his neck. The lavishness of the palace still threw him sometimes, still made him feel like he was in the wrong place entirely. Arthur himself would look out of place except he'd always carried himself like a king. The clothes and crown did absolutely nothing to evoke power in him, the curve of his shoulders and the way he held his proud head did all that quite soundly. 

“Funny how life works, isn't it Art?” he said at last, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Always knew you were the boss, just never realized you were born to be one.” He paused, staring at his knees. “Thank you, for today. For carrying me out of there. I know we've gotten each other out of plenty of scrapes before but this was—this was different. After all, you've got more than me and...and well I suppose you don't have to look after 'Lack anymore but you've got Blue and George and all the girls. Not to mention an entire country.” He sighed, dropping his hands into his lap and lacing them. “Just glad to know you're not going to change just because you've got a few more people in your crew. And a magic sword.”

Tristan fell silent for a long time before realizing that Arthur's breathing had stopped. He looked over, mild alarm starting before he realized that Arthur's eyes were open and he was watching him. 

“How...how long have you been listening then?” 

“Long enough,” Arthur replied, sitting slowly up and sighing, looking at Tristan with a mixture of sadness and amusement in his blue eyes. “Wet stick, did you really, honestly think any of this was going to stop me caring about any of you?” 

“No, 'course not I just...”

“You just what?” Arthur pressed, his brow furrowed lightly. 

Tristan huffed through his nose, hand tightening on his injury. “You collapsed because of me today, not Excalibur. And I know that. And I'm—I'm sorry. If it had happened a little earlier you could have been killed.”

Arthur blinked. “Wet stick, I collapsed because a bunch of greedy would-be conquerors decided what's mine should be theirs and I had to go change their minds. If you think for a second that I could have gotten to where I am now, let alone finished that battle alone you've gone funny in the head.” 

He smiled weakly at that, huffing a laugh that pained his side. He glanced at Arthur. “I'm pretty sure I went funny in the head at seven years old when I started taking orders from you.”

“Exactly!” Arthur said, gesturing as though he'd made his point. “You and Backlack both—and apparently the disease is contagious because now I've an entire country asking me what to do.” 

“Wait a few years till they find out,” Tristan teased, and Arthur smiled wider, tossing a pillow at his head.

“Shut your mouth or I'll have to shut it for you.” 

“You feeling up to that?” Tristan challenged, but Arthur had known him too long and understood him too well to miss the spark of concern behind the jab.

“I must have hit the ground pretty hard for you to be looking at me like that.”

Tristan's shoulders slumped a little and he turned gingerly to lean his back against the foot-board of the couch, propping one foot up and resting his arm against his thigh. “You can't see yourself wielding that thing, Arthur. The others seem convinced that it's not doing any harm but—I don't know. You become something else and this isn't the first time you've hit the ground like a dead man afterwards.”

Arthur nodded, his demeanor quiet for a moment as he considered. “Well, I can tell you that before I fought my uncle I didn't remember much when Excalibur took me over. Still can't recall the bathouse at all. I do remember fighting my way to Vortegern's tower and the battle after that, but it's like a dream. After, though--” he shook his head, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment before running his hand through his hair. “It's different now. I can say that with confidence. The first few times it was like getting thrown by an unbroken colt. The last few—well. I've learned to work with the stallion's stride and we make a decent team.”

Tristan sought Arthur's face and Arthur met his eyes, letting him. 

“Honestly Tristan. I am sore from carrying your carcass around on the field and feel like I could sleep for a week but I'm no worse for wear.” He smiled, and the warmth lit his eyes the way it always had, putting Tristan at ease. “I don't know what the others say about Excalibur, but I know it's not going to hurt me.”

“Alright,” Tristan nodded. “If you're sure.” 

“I am. It was my birthright, after all. My father's gift to me. I don't have to trust the Mage or the Lady of the Lake or even Bedivere. I do trust them, but I don't have to because my father left that sword for me to find. After dying to protect me he wouldn't have intended something for me that would harm.”

“Wish I could have known your father,” Tristan said, crossing his arms as he found it harder and harder to stay awake. 

Arthur nodded sadly. “Me too. Wish I could have known him properly.” 

“Sorry...Art--” Tristan murmured, his heavy eyelids falling shut. 

Arthur smiled fondly, and a moment later Tristan felt a warm hand against his head and a kiss pressed against his crown. “Get some rest.” A heavy blanket settled across Tristan's chest and legs, and he didn't have the energy to argue.


End file.
